War-Dog
by SeekerDraconis23
Summary: It's 1939, and a town in Ireland is suffering from the loss of men. Only Jack O'Brien and his faithful companion is left. His companion is a dog named Scamp. Jack goes off to war reluctantly and his dog plods along. Will they survive the horror of the war? The tragedy of the trenches? Will Scamp return to North-Down? Or will Jack remain the last man standing at war's end?
1. Jack O'brien's Dog

_**21**__**st**__** November 2012**_

_**Last year, in France, in No Man's Land, a group of British archaeologists came across a plane half-buried in the ground. It was a British WWII plane and the locals that lived near No Man's Land, two miles away, had told stories of a dog-ghost barking for help, years after the war had ended. **_

_**So the archaeologists decided to investigate more into this legend.**_

_**In the plane, they found a sketch-book with over fifty pages filled with a Jack Russell dog. **_

_**Over and over again, the artist drew the same dog, often portraying the dog in different angles. This dog was black and white with a little hint of brown in its face. **_

_**And often, there was a name handwritten in the corner of the page, so small that you could hardly see it. It was one word:**_

_**SCAMP.**_

_**The archaeologists assumed it was the name of the handsome Jack Russell puppy. But these pictures, they showed the whole life of the dog. The news was put out, asking anyone who knew something about this dog, to come forward. **_

_**Nothing, no, not a single thing for five months.**_

_**Then, a man named Jack O'Brien, an Irish soldier who fought in WWII stepped forward, claiming to know something about this particular dog. **_

_**Jack died two months ago, aged ninety. So his favourite sketch of Scamps was hung up in the town that he was born in, in the clock tower so everyone could see Scamps.**_

_**This is the story of Scamp's life.**_


	2. A Puppy Awakes

**A Puppy Awakes **

**The short hand of the clock tower pointed to twelve o'clock and the chiming began. It was such a terrible, clanging noise to hear.**

**But, nonetheless, I opened my eyes for the first time in my life and saw a boy of sixteen, no seventeen, I think, sketching in an ancient sketch-book. He had a boyish face, radiating with happiness and he glanced at me with a pair of eyes, filled to the brim with elated feelings. He had tawny-gold hair, which was quite rare in Ireland, and sparkling blue eyes. His golden hair was all curled, and it had that look which meant only one thing- he was as lucky as the devil.**

**His voice had that confident sound about it, something which is often unheard of for teenagers. He had a hand that flew across his page in his dusty brown book which was surprising. **

**Soon he had finished his drawing and he closed his book gently and looked at me. What I didn't realise, in the room at that very moment, was a rough looking man, lurking in the shadows.**

"**Very good, O'Brien. I take it, that you're finished?" asked the man roughly. **

"**Yes, Mr Fitzgerald. Your fifth puppy is a brilliant 'un to draw, sir. Calmest dog **

**I ever set my eyes on," replied the boy.**

"**Was it you that found them in a waste-bag that was thrown in the river and you that gave them to me?" demanded Mr Fitzgerald.**

**So this boy had saved me from drowning?**

"**Yes, sir," the boy answered confidently.**

"**And may I able to view your sketching?" asked Fitzgerald. The boy did not reply; gave his ancient sketch-book to the hidden man.**

**I assumed this was a good time to look for my kin, so I turned my head around clumsily and I saw a batch of fifteen puppies, in a deep slumber, untroubled by their peaceful dreams. Where was my mother? All of the puppies, as it seemed were females. **

"**Ah," Mr Fitzgerald sighed, stepping out of the gloomy shadows at last. He had a thin mouth and a curling moustache. Fitzgerald was a tall, straight man of forty five years old, and he had wallowing muddy-brown hair that was sadly turning grey.**

"**This is exactly what I had in mind, Jack. You have seemed to captured the colours extraordinary well. This is better than any piece of work that first- classed artists offer. This talent you have must be natural. O'Brien, for your act of courage on the behalf of these puppies, I shall reward you with one of these puppies to take home. Pick your puppy carefully, O'Brien," announced Fitzgerald. **

**I hoped the puppy that Jack would take home was me.**

**Jack scratched my tummy gently and I yapped happily. **

"**This 'un, I think, sir," answered Jack. Mr Fitzgerald handed Jack his sketch-book and shook hands with Jack before Jack picked me up and wrapped me up in his coat. We headed outside together and there was rain beating down from the heavens above. **

**Jack started to trudge through some deep mud and we reached Jack's home at two o'clock in the morning.**

**Jack's father was sitting down reading the newspaper and Jack's father murmured something.**

"**Usual business, Jack?" **

"**No, Father, Mr Fitzgerald wanted me to draw the puppies I saved by the river. Would you like to have a look, Father?" asked Jack.**

"**Please do, son," answered Jack's father, suddenly appearing from behind the newspaper, "and you even brought 'un home!"**

**Jack's father was a tall man with fiery red hair and sparkling blue eyes that matched Jack's. His name was Patrick.**

**Patrick picked up Jack's sketch-book and opened it to the first page.**

"**Your mother ought to be here to see this picture. It's lovely, son, you could make some money with these pictures you have in your room. When you go off to war, if there is ever one, do take your sketch-book with you and cheer up the boys on the front. It'd be lovely for them to see, Jack. You're upholding the family name!" claimed Patrick.**

"**You'd like me to sell some of my drawings for money, to help the farm rent?" asked Jack curiously.**

"**If you want to help the rent," answered Patrick lightly. "You know your grandfather went off to war thirty-five years ago, don't you? He brought back a medal for courage, facing the enemy in a matter of life and death, to help his friend Thomas, who was stuck in a mud hole. Thomas had the gift of art," Patrick claimed.**

**Jack took me up to his room and laid me down in his bed, stroking my fur contentedly. He went back downstairs, leaving me alone for the first time in my life. **

**I stretched out and closed my eyes and fell prey to peaceful dreams at last, knowing that somewhere out there, a war was going to begin…**


End file.
